


Turning

by Luckyfirerabbit



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, F/F, Sexual Themes, Vampirism, soft gay shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luckyfirerabbit/pseuds/Luckyfirerabbit
Summary: Alternate universe where Morana is human and asks Striga to turn her. Short and sweet, as you do.
Relationships: Morana/Striga (Castlevania)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	Turning

Striga had seen the moon rise and hang over the world countless times. Even before she lost her mortality, it had always felt the same. It cast the landscape before her in a dreamy gray pallor, allowing her keen eyes to distinguish color and any movement among the sea of trees that lay before her, and draws her gaze southwestward to a distant expanse of water that shimmers just beyond the amber flickers of far off torchlight.

Briefly she contemplates the humans that lived in the amber glow, her mind lingering on conversations with them, with the most important among them through most of the last several nights. _The caliph_ , her mind pulses with the unfamiliar word, though she gives it little more attention than that. An agreement had been reached tonight with this _caliph_ , and Striga is comfortable in the idea of the tribute she would receive in exchange for leaving this particular human's borders alone. Yes, Striga and her band of heathens would turn north after tonight, under the promise that they would be receiving fine weapons and an ungodly amount of gold to do so. She absently smirks to herself, rather pleased.

That little grin slips away, the vampire going impossibly still as her keen ears pick up on the distinct, unmistakable cadence of hooves across the ground near her. One powerful hand goes to the sword at her belt, the finger curling loosely, not wholly committed just yet. Then she notes the breathing of a horse, its steady heartbeat, and then another heartbeat, this one decidedly human and actually swifter than the animal's. Striga's fingers relax, her forearm draping along the length of the weapon and her hand cupping the pommel as it comes to rest there. She half turns, not a hint of surprise to be seen as she beholds the human riding casually towards her. A staggeringly beautiful woman that she has barely known more than a fortnight but finds herself terribly enchanted with; her elegance, her cunning, her brilliance, and her sheer physical beauty brought something in Striga to its knees. And she would be lying if she said she didn't find some sort of pleasure in it.

"Good evening, councilor." the formality is something like playful, and Striga is pleased when the woman smiles, a glint of white as moonlight catches on teeth. She gives a moment to look her over, admiring the way she looks in furs -because it  _is_ chilly tonight, but only in a way a human would notice.

"Surely here you can permit yourself to use my name."

"Very well." a brief grin reveals the edge of one fang. "Good evening, Morana."

Morana smoothly dismounts after tugging her horse to a stop, still smiling. "Good evening, Striga."

Striga waits, watches her approach with an endearing confidence, something Striga is not at all accustomed to seeing in regards to anyone in her presence. But, then again, Morana was special, she had sensed it from the moment they met, and Striga has only found evidence supporting the notion in the nights they had spent together going back and forth with the  _caliph_ and his other advisers. Even now, Morana shows not a hint of fear in standing beside her, in Striga's stretching and heavy shadow, and curls an arm around Striga's. She accepts the human's affection with a curious but soft expression and a nod, and for a moment the two simply stand together and look out over the forest.

"Have you considered my proposal?"

Morana's voice is soft, has a natural low rasp to it that Striga's sensitive hearing devours. She recalls hearing her speak the first time, how everything else just...fell away when Morana addressed her so formally.

Striga chuffs. "Have you?"

"Of course I have."

Striga takes a deep breath, nodding, mostly to herself. "...This life is hard. I fear you may not truly appreciate the gravity of it."

"How so?"

"You are...soft." Like silk, like a breeze in Spring.

"As mortals are." Morana laughs. "I'm afraid it cannot be helped."

"True enough. Still," Striga feels her brow furrow though she isn't sure why. "You are nobility. For all my power, I cannot hope to give you the life you are accustomed to. All I have is myself, my army, and whatever we can carve out of this life for ourselves. Little else."

"And you are so certain this will not satisfy me?"

"...I do not see how it could." Because Morana is a fine woman from a fine world and Striga is...not. "And there are other things."

"Such as?"

"What of your position? You hold considerable sway with your  _caliph_ ."

"The  _caliph_ considers this a prospect of alliance. He also sees you taking me to your side as a way to ensure you keep your end of the bargain."

_So he knows. She told him. Curious._ "And your family? Your home? It's likely you will never see them again."

"Everyone must leave those things behind someday. Is it so wrong to choose that day for myself?"

A fair point. An interesting one.

"...What if you do not love me?" Because this human had enormous feelings and had laid some of them onto Striga, and she simply couldn't believe it was true. No one loves a monster, certainly not one such as herself. "What if I give you what you ask, and you find that this is naught but passing fancy? Or you find my love detestable? Surely you would hate me."

Morana tightens her hand around Striga's forearm, a part of her reveling in just how solid the musculature feels. Morana can only imagine the extremes of raw strength Striga wields, that she might wield herself. Looking up -because she has to- she studies the vampire for a moment, pale blue eyes lingering on long, pointed ears, the sharp edges of Striga's face, the uncanny verdigree of her eyes and the slitted pupils. Would her own eyes do the same? Would the pupils expand and contract like a cat's, her eyes casting eye shine in the dark where she would henceforth dwell, provided Striga indulged her wish?

In any case, none of these things frightened or disgusted her, not the prospect of parasitic immortality, and certainly not Striga. She cannot presently discern how or why, but Morana knows Striga is special, and Morana wanted some of that for herself. If that meant giving herself to this heathen, this powerful creature that swept across nations in conquest as one sweeps away dust, then so be it. Let this be her damnation to revel in.

Morana smiles up at her, the expression relaxed, comfortable, then she turns away to look out over the trees once more. "Your hesitance to agree is rather assuring, you know?"

One sable brow arches, though Morana doesn't see it.

"Still, I have considered these things at length, lost sleep to them." Morana regards her again, her expression sober and open. "I want this. I want you."

It takes a moment, not a word passing between them, before Striga takes a deep, chest filling breath. Morana watches her, quietly marvels at just how large she appears with full lungs.

"The turning is slow. Painful." Striga admits, reluctant though she knows she needs to be upfront about this. "The first few nights will  _not_ be easy."

"...What is it like? Dying?"

Striga cringes, her free hand smoothing over Morana's at her arm. "Like fainting. Slowly. And then you sleep. At least...it's very much like sleep, but dreamless. It was for me. Then you awaken to everything being new and different. It is...no small undertaking."

"I didn't expect it to be." Morana says, sounding the least certain she ever has, feeling as much. "Will you be with me?"

"If that is your wish, yes."

"...Will you make me yours?"

Striga's mouth opens to answer, but then hangs, the words vanishing. She senses something different now, feels that question doesn't mean what she initially thought. "How do you mean?"

"As it sounds. I wish to be with you, in  _all_ ways."

Striga cannot help but laugh. "How could your love blossom so quickly?"

"Because mortal lives are short, some love cannot wait to bloom. And imagine ours, cultivated in immortality, what sort of petals could unfurl for us?"

Striga's usually firm expression lengthens, softens, and she looks down at this human with a feeling she can't properly describe. And when Morana looks back at her, vulnerable and trusting and waiting, Striga feels something in her falling to its knees in awe and wonder.

"You wish to be mine?"

"If you would have me."

Striga turns her entire body to face her, taking Morana's one hand in both of her own. Her hold is secure but...tender she thinks, hopes. "I would have a kiss."

Morana smiles and laughs, turning her head away briefly. "Is that all?"

"It is how I wish to begin." Because she feels that just a kiss could do so much, settle so many doubts and tell her a greater, more clear truth of the matter.

"I see. Very well." Morana is still smiling as she lifts to the balls of her feet, gripping Striga's hands tighter to stabilize herself. She tips her chin up, a wonderful thrill flashing through her as Striga dips her head to meet her lips.

Morana hates that she tenses when they touch, finding Striga's lips startlingly cold. Striga responds to it, feeling as if she's attempting to retreat, to which Morana quickly reaches up to cup the back of her head through a nest of sable silk tresses, to hold her in place and assure Striga that she still wants this. Morana works to deepen the kiss, to tease Striga's lips with her teeth before the vampire yields with a chesty groan. Then Morana feels the larger woman shudder as she slips her warm, slick tongue into her mouth. She feels the fangs, acknowledges them with a wave of gooseflesh and a whimper.

When they part, Striga rests her forehead to Morana's, feeling more of that lively heat that had just been in her mouth. "Come. My woman deserves the comfort of a bed."

Morana gives a breathy laugh, a smile, gives Striga another small kiss, and follows.

And there was great comfort to be found in the general's tent, in her bed though Morana found it to be little more than a literal nest of furs and blankets and pillows. She longed to lay in it when she laid eyes on it, if for no other reason than knowing that Striga would lie with her. But not before Striga undressed her, those powerful hands nothing but grace and care as she divested Morana of her furs and then her dress.

"This is what you want, yes?" though it seems a little late to ask, what with Morana's bare breasts on full display.

"It is." she answers comfortably, seeming to melt into Striga's touch as those calloused hands smooth along her arms, about her waist. "Be gentle with me."

Striga hums, contemplative as well as acknowledging. She tugs Morana closer, hands easing lower to grip her plump backside. "Am I your first?"

"No." a little laugh against Striga's collar where she leaves a little kiss. "But you are easily the largest," another kiss, this at Striga's throat, "and the strongest."

"Hmm." this sound is full of keen interest, and it manifests in a greater temerity in her grip on Morana's ass. "Have faith, my lady, I mean you no harm."

Morana purrs and gasps, raising her arms to circle Striga's neck and pull herself closer still. "I know."

Striga is silently baffled -how could she know? How could a mortal be so confident in their safety at Striga's tender mercy? She had to admit, Morana's courage is terribly attractive.

Striga gathers the smaller woman in her arms and hauls her up, carrying her the three long strides it takes to reach the nest and carefully set her down. She laughs, giggles even, and Striga feels her heart clutch as she settles over her. They make love in the glow of one large, growling brazier, amber and crimson painting their mismatched bodies that twine together with all the ease of missing pieces. Striga sees to her satisfaction, as much as the human can take before Morana all but begs for a reprieve. Striga wanted to be sure her last night alive would be pleasant, to feel like it was everything she could ever want on the chance that her new life wouldn't be.

For a moment Striga braces above her, watching her gasp and mewl and glisten with sweat. A true vision of something divine, though she has never paid heed to any particular god before. She could pay heed to Morana, she thinks. She casts a longing, almost saddened look down at Morana when the mortal woman opens her eyes.

"You still wish for this?"

"I do." Morana pants.

Striga nods, her brow furrowing. "...I cannot do it gently."

"I know." Morana reaches up with a slow, soft hand, stroking the hard bend of Striga's cheek. "But after?"

"I shall be soft with you then, yes." and she feels a fleeting need to swear on it, to make a promise because this mortal woman is worth that effort somehow.

Striga works one arm beneath her, lifting her up and pulling Morana to rest against her chest. That strange sadness still lines her face, but Morana meets it with a quiet calm and acceptance that Striga can't recall having seen in  _many_ years. Then she nudges Morana's chin with the edge of her jaw, encouraging Morana's head back, and finds all her attention collapsing on her throat, slitted pupils fattening at the bob of her swallowing.

She does her best to be quick, Striga's jaws stretching open before snapping closed, her fangs popping through the meager resistance of skin. Morana jolts in her arms with a raspy grunt, her body bowing, her hands clutching in Striga's hair. A natural response to pain and being made prey. Striga takes greedy mouthfuls, the predator in her relishing the taste and the heat and the  _life_ that steadily fills her body as blood fills her gut. Mercy, she is so  _sweet_ , almost dizzying, and the taste begs for Striga to bleed her dry. But no. No, no, can't do that.

Striga finally drags herself away, lips and skin separating with the sound of a kiss. Striga takes a moment to hold her, sitting upright with her own head slumping against her own shoulder to ride out the wave of dizziness. One heavy swallow helps ground her, her tongue sliding to catch the crimson on her teeth. Now she feels the soft trembling in her arms, and regards Morana with a painfully soft concern.

"This is the last time I can ask." She says. "Do you still wish for this?"

Morana fights with the weight of her own body and swimming vision, and her heart is doing something that threatens to make her panic, her pulse is  _dragging_ through her veins and she doesn't know what to think. But she hears Striga's voice, the velvety rumble of it, and it pulls her back down."Yes." she exhales at last.

Striga takes another moment to study her, to search her face for anything resembling fear or uncertainty, before nodding. Then she's raising her own wrist to her mouth, to pull skin between her teeth until it splits and spills blood so dark it's nearly black. She lifts Morana to sit a little straighter before offering the little wound, only partly expecting Morana to know what she's meant to do with it. Shaking hands grip Striga's forearm, and a needy mouth closes around the puncture in her wrist. Striga lets her drink until the wound closes on its own, but a few seconds, and knows it's enough.

Morana is feeling heavy again, gravity centering in her chest and stomach, then spreading to her veins. Her vision blurs and it feels like the earth moves beneath her -it's merely Striga's arms as they help her lie down, ever so carefully.

"Now you must rest." Striga whispers, pulling up blankets and nudging up close to her and kissing her cheek when she settles. "And trust I will be near should you need me." Soft surprise kinks her expression as Morana readily turns into her, tucking against her chest as if to take root there.

"Hold me?" comes her meek request.

No words are needed, only Striga's embrace, and where Striga had expected to find suffering in the throws of what she knew would be an agonizing transformation, she found her lover peacefully at rest.


End file.
